


Broken Pieces

by onierokinetic



Series: One Sitting One Shots [4]
Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti)
Genre: Bill Denbrough & Richie Tozier Are Best Friends, Bill Denbrough is a Good Friend, Canon Compliant, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Hurt Bill Denbrough, Hurt Richie Tozier, Not A Fix-It, Post-IT Chapter Two (2019), Richie Tozier is a Mess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-07
Updated: 2020-07-07
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:33:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25118452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onierokinetic/pseuds/onierokinetic
Summary: Bill holds Richie as he sobs.Richie is breaking beneath him and all Bill can do is hold on, afraid that if he lets his grip loosen even slightly, he’ll shatter. Bill can’t let that happen. Not Richie.***Despite everything, Bill will always be there to hold Richie as he crumbles.
Relationships: Bill Denbrough & Richie Tozier
Series: One Sitting One Shots [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1793500
Comments: 5
Kudos: 54





	Broken Pieces

**Author's Note:**

> This is super short and not even a full scene. I don't know what this is. It could have been part of a longer fic but honestly, I needed to get this scene out of my head. I just need more Bill & Richie friendship content in my life because everyone overlooks them and treats Bill like shit?? Like hello? They're best friends and if you don't think they'd be holding each other together after the death of two of their best friends you'd be wrong.

Bill holds Richie as he sobs.

It’s gross and messy. Richie is nearly screaming with the force of his cries, smearing a sticky mixture of snot, tears, and saliva all over Bill’s shoulder. Richie hot breath stutters over the skin on Bill’s neck, gooseflesh rising to meet it. It’s loud and obnoxious, just like Bill had come to expect from his best friend, yet every whimper, sob, and sniffle rips at his already battered heart.

Richie is breaking beneath him and all Bill can do is hold on, afraid that if he lets his grip loosen even slightly, he’ll shatter. Bill can’t let that happen. Not Richie.

He’s shaking beneath him. Bill’s too afraid to run a comforting hand along his back because if he moves even slightly then Richie might slip away. He can feel his own fingers trembling in time with Richie’s body, more in sync than they’ve ever been. Richie chokes out a sob, sucking in a breath with a whistle in his throat that makes Bill flinch. He can feel the rise and fall of Richie’s lungs against his own chest, grateful for the large stuttering movements. Proof that Richie is still here. Still alive, even if he doesn’t want to be.

He can’t say anything. Even if he could trust himself to speak, could trust his stutter to stay dormant, he wouldn’t know what to say. He knows why Richie is crying. He knows why he’s upset and why he just can’t seem to calm down. But how can you comfort someone, tell them that everything is going to be fine when you’re not even sure of that yourself? How can he tell Richie that it gets better, and that he’ll be able to move on when Bill has spent his entire life disproving that? When he himself can’t get past it all. It took him 27 years to get over Georgie’s death. How much longer will it take to move on from Stan and Eddie’s?

How can he help Richie cope, when he himself feels like he’s floating?

Richie has gone still in his arms. He’s still shaking with the force of his own grief, but gone are the heaving sobs and stuttering breaths. They’re replaced with muffled sniffles and pained whimpers as he buries his face deeper into Bill’s neck, sinking into his embrace. If he lets go, Bill thinks Richie might just melt away. He won’t have that.

Richie’s grip, once threatening to tear the front of his shirt, has gone lax. He lets his arms fall as much as he can while being held so tightly into Bill’s chest, falling to his sides. Bill wants to wrap them around his body, but can’t.

Richie tries to pull away. Bill holds on tighter.

“Let go, man,” Richie says, whispering in Bill’s ear with a quietness that Bill is frightened to say he’s never heard from Richie. “I’m good now, you can let go.” There’s no emotion in his voice. It’s monotone, as dead as his eyes in those lights.

“No,” Bill says. He buries his fingers into the back of Richie’s shirt with a grip so bruising he doesn’t have to look to know the color of his knuckles.

“Bill,” Richie tries to weakly protest, giving the slightest resistance against Bill’s hold, but not quite pulling away.

“I can’t, Richie,” Bill breaths. “I don’t want to let go, Rich. I’m not going to let go.” It’s the fastest he’s been able to talk without the stutter in months. He wishes he had the energy to be proud of that, but right now he needs to get the words out of his brain and into Richie’s ears as fast as possible. He needs Richie to _know._

“If I let go you’ll break,” he explains, tilting his face to bury his nose in the greasy jungle of Richie’s unwashed curls. It’s as if he’s trying to send the word directly into Richie’s skull.

Richie tries to protest, but Bill continues.

“I’ve luh-lost so many people, Rich. I lost them too. I cuh-cuh-cuh,” he gets caught on the stutter, shutting his eyes forcefully and trying to get the words out. “I’m not going to lose you too.”

“Bill, I—” Richie starts, but not even he knows where he’s going with that. He shuts his mouth, sighing into Bill’s embrace.

“Please, Richie. Just… don’t let go,” Bill asks. And Richie doesn’t. He doesn’t let go and for that, Bill is grateful. Because if Richie breaks, Bill isn’t sure he’d be able to find all the pieces and put him back together again.

For the first time, Richie brings his arms around Bill’s waist and squeezes back. His long arms manage to wrap around Bill’s small body enough that his hands are resting on either side of his waist.

It happens gradually, so much so that Bill almost doesn’t notice. Richie’s hold grows more substantial, and the tremors start fading. He’s pulling himself together, for Bill, piece by piece. He’s strengthening under Bill’s fingertips, using the weight of Bill’s hold to keep himself together as he begins to glue the cracks. Enough so that Bill can’t start to notice his own chipped pieces, held together against all odds.

Their cracks are still there. Bill doesn’t think they’ll ever quite disappear. But he’ll always be there for Richie to hold him together when he’s threatening to fall to pieces. He knows Richie would do the same.


End file.
